Michael got out of his Range Rover, and locked it behind him. He walked up the short pathway to the front door of the house, and rang the doorbell. The front door was opened by Declan Costello, and Michael was ushered inside the tiny house.
This was what used to be called a parlour-type house, and Michael knew the layout off by heart. He followed Declan down the narrow passageway into the front room. Mrs Singh, as he had always known her, was waiting for him patiently. She was sitting on a small two-seater sofa in a deep burgundy colour, and the two armchairs that matched it sat either side of the fireplace. There was a light wood cabinet against the party wall, and a matching coffee table in front of the fireplace. The carpet was expensive, a good Axminster, and where the only real money had been spent. The sole ornaments in the room were photographs of her family, and these were plentifully scattered round.
Michael took the woman’s hand gently in his. ‘It’s very good to see you again, Mrs Singh. It’s a long time since I’ve been in here.’
She stood up to greet him. She was as tiny as he remembered, under five feet tall, as thin as a rake, her thick dark hair streaked with grey now, but she still had the power to make him feel like a kid again.
‘Sit down, Michael, it’s lovely to welcome you here once again.’
Michael and Declan both settled themselves into the armchairs by the fireplace. Mrs Singh poured Michael a cup of tea, and he took it from her carefully.
‘I appreciated you coming to my husband’s funeral, Michael, it would have pleased him so much. He always thought a lot of you. I’ll never forget that, you know, never forget that you remembered the people from your childhood.’
Michael sipped his tea, embarrassed now. ‘You and your husband were always very good to me. He was a good man, a decent man.’
She nodded in agreement. ‘He was. I was very lucky.’ She smiled widely. ‘I always knew, Michael, that it was you who stopped the trouble we were experiencing at the shop. The threats and the hate all stopped overnight. Mr Singh always said that it could only be you. We were aware of how you had got on in life, and we were pleased for you.’
Declan Costello sat back in his armchair and relaxed; this was a woman Michael obviously respected, who he was happy to listen to.
‘I did nothing really, Mrs Singh, I just put out a few feelers, explained that you were dear friends of mine. But if it helped you both then I am very pleased about that.’
She looked at him kindly with her deep brown eyes; she was a shrewd woman, that much was evident.
She was wearing a deep-green sari, and she looked to Declan as if she had dressed for the occasion. She looked well-to-do, like a woman of substance, her jewellery was gold, very heavy, and well made. She had diamonds in her ears, and in the rings on her fingers.
‘I have been trying to contact you for a while now, Michael. I heard about your Jessie going missing, and I heard you were looking for information about her.’
Michael immediately sat forward in his armchair, he knew this woman wouldn’t have asked him here without good reason.
‘Go on. I’m listening.’ Michael’s voice was quiet, interested.
‘I must explain, Michael, I don’t even know if this is anything of relevance. All I can say is, I found it odd and, considering what’s been going on, I just thought I should let you know about it.’
Declan butted in quickly, ‘There’s also a fifty-grand reward for any information that leads to Jessie.’
Michael Flynn’s head snapped sideways, looking at Declan with complete and utter disgust.
Mrs Singh shook her head slowly in denial. Holding her hand over her heart she said with real meaning, ‘I can assure you, Mr Costello, that means very little to me.’ That she was deeply offended by what Declan had said to her was more than obvious.
Michael Flynn was out of the armchair he was sitting in within nanoseconds and, kneeling down on the carpet in front of his old friend, he grabbed Mrs Singh’s hands in his. Squeezing them tightly, he said, ‘Ignore him, Mrs Singh, he’s fucking ignorant at times. Just tell me what you know.’
She grasped Michael’s hands, pulled them to her chest, knowing that he would listen to what she had to say.